


Luxury Goods

by orphan_account



Series: New World Order [2]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Bloodplay, F/M, Femdom, Foot Fetish, Male Submissive, Malesub, Matriarchy, Men Crying, Mental Anguish, Past Abuse, Past Rape/Non-con, Praise Kink, Sadism, Sexual Slavery, Slavery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-22
Updated: 2020-02-22
Packaged: 2021-02-28 00:01:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,504
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22840678
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: A slave gets a new owner.He hopes he can please her.
Relationships: Original Female Character/Original Male Character
Series: New World Order [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1642039
Comments: 5
Kudos: 62





	Luxury Goods

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Tak138](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tak138/gifts).



> This is a sequel to [Humans Are Such Easy Prey](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22685935). You probably won't get a couple of things in this if you haven't read that first.
> 
> Beta read by [Tak138](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tak138/pseuds/Tak138)! Sorry for making you beta read your own gift lmao.
> 
> If you like my work, or femdom fiction in general, then consider joining the discord I made with my friends Tak138 and [Cesarinna](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cesarinna/works): https://discord.gg/Zb7ACes

Saavedra paces on the ruby-red carpeted floor. After what felt like an endless session of walking around, the High Elf manages to seat herself down on one of the monotonously grey waiting chairs pedantically aligned along the bare white walls of the corridor. A chandelier hanging from the ceiling bathes the windowless corridor with ivory yellow light.

Her nose twitches as she stares at the black-framed wall clock for the ninth time this hour, scrutinizing the second hand, which seemed to linger an extra minute at every passing second. Her long ears press against the side of her head in annoyance which is mostly directed at herself.

_Over a million gold… for a single slave..._

She pinches the bridge of her nose with a scowl. She had gone to the auction to specifically get a human slave, since she isn't interested in orcs and didn’t want elves because they came with the possibility of pregnancy if they’re not properly sterilized. An abortion wouldn’t be difficult to do in the slightest, but it is an annoying inconvience she’d rather not deal with in the first place.

And what do the auctioneers show in the first minute? A human slave, a _beautiful_ one at that. Apparently the former King of Rairyn, too, though it’s not like his title matters anymore. Saavedra had never been to Rairyn, but she knows it was one of the last strongholds for humans before Chief Ghorza tore it to the ground. 

She blows a breath. 

_Over a million fucking gold!_

It’s not like she’s short on money, but that much for one man? His former title doesn’t mean shit, so why did she buy him like it did?! She could have bought many more men. She wanted to purchase at least _five_ slaves, to thoroughly indulge her fantasies of having her own harem. This man better be fucking worth the gold.

He was naked save for a collar around his neck when she purchased him. Covered in his cum, too, since Ghorza had fucked him in front of the crowd. What a trial it would be to have such a wretch in her house! No, no, no. The first thing she did when she returned from the auction was hand him to one of the serving girls to get him cleaned and dressed. He may be a slave, but he had to look _presentable._ She wasn’t about to let someone so filthy walk freely in her home. Hopefully since he was a King she wouldn’t need to remind him what etiquette was. Surely he can groom himself. 

Now she waits. He must be flawless when he comes out. She’s beyond excited over having her first sex slave, practically bouncing in her seat at the thought, but she must temper the feeling. It would do her no good to be potentially disappointed when she sees him when he’s cleaned and ready. She has to keep her expectations _realistic,_ especially since he’s non-refundable.

Perhaps she can whore him out to make a return investment? He’s obviously in high demand considering how ludicrous his price was. He could be a valuable asset.

Her concentration is disrupted by the sudden sound of a door creaking open, and her ears flick at the noise. Her eyes shift to the door to see one of her serving girls stepping out. Following closely behind is her newly acquired slave.

Saavedra’s breath hitches.

He’s wearing a white and gold suit, it’s form-fitting and accentuates his legs and chest nicely. It’s intentionally tight to leave little to the imagination. His brown hair is combed to the side and Saavedra openly gapes while looking at his pale lips and his slender and rounded nose, albeit it’s a bit crooked. A prominent jaw curves gracefully around and the strength of his neck showed in the twining cords of muscle that shaped his entire body; strong arms, bold thighs and calves, a firm chest and abdomen.

Ah, yes. She knows why she used over a million gold on him. He is devilishly handsome and she certainly hopes he’s more than just a pretty face.

Evidently, he had been trained quite well, because the next thing she knows he’s striding towards her— practically floating off the carpet— and kneels in front of her in one smooth motion. He gently touches her thighs with his hands, and leans on her as he sighs dreamily.

“Master.”

And _oh,_ how being called that stirs a fire in her loins. But it also makes her hesitate because she doesn’t know where to _go_ from here. Curse her inexperience! Perhaps it’s a blessing she came back home with a single man, because if she came with five like she initially planned she might become more than just a little overwhelmed. 

Her ears droop as she continues looking at his hazel eyes. He’s probably expecting something. When she continues to hesitate like the complete buffoon she is he lowers his head to kiss her heels. 

“...I hope I can please you.”

Well, at least she’s not the only one that’s nervous. Still, she furrows her brows.

_Get it together Saavedra! You wanted to become a Master and now when you’re one you don’t do a bloody thing!!_

She’s really starting to regret only taking a single class on how to own slaves now. 

Why does she continue to hesitate? Is it because he’s not only devilishly handsome, but also _devastatingly_ handsome? Perhaps she’s worried about sullying him in some way, because of his truly exorbitant price? He is like a fine glass vase, something expertly crafted and painted. Something she would be afraid to touch because she doesn’t want to break it.

Saavedra clenches her hands. What, doesn’t she want to break this damn man? This _slave?_

She’s not about to delude herself into thinking she can _rehabilitate_ him or some nonsense like that. She’s not a saviour, and she’s certainly not a good person. She happily supported Chief Ghorza in her conquests because she knows she’s a terrible person. Hell, she agreed with Chief Ghorza’s less than stellar opinion on the opposite sex, and when the orc had essentially ripped men of their rights she was _ecstatic._

She’s not here to heal anyone.

She’s here to own a slave.

So, she needs to hurry the fuck up and act like a proper _Master._

The elf quickly thinks about the single class she attended. She remembers the professor recommending changing a slave’s name. She mentioned something about needing to sever their past identities to make them completely loyal. And if _anyone_ needed to be severed from their past life, if was probably a former King.

Something steps on the carpet, and her eyes flick to her cat, Hanaat, grooming herself. Saavedra stares at her glossy black fur. 

_Well, I suppose that’ll do._

She clears her throat awkwardly. “You.”

He instantly perks up from hearing that, as he quickly looks back up at her with a glint in his eyes.

“Yes, Master?”

She feels her face warm from the title rolling off his tongue. Damn. She enjoyed being called Master far too much. Her eyes flick back to her cat in an effort to distract herself.

“...You will have a new name from now on.” She declares, and when she looks back at him his eyes tell her he’s listening with rapt attention. 

It gives her a spike of confidence. Maybe she can claim dominion over this man without much trouble after all.

“You will henceforth be known as Feles.”

* * *

“You need to do positive reinforcement every now and then. It’ll reaffirm his bond to you, especially after a punishment.”

Saavedra gently sways the steaming cup of tea in her hand. She looks at the dark elf seated across from her, Vissla. Her friend’s brown calloused skin oddly juxtaposes with the crispness of her dress, which is tailored to perfection and likely from a high end tailor's shop. Her eyes have a look of mischief beneath her scarred brow. She’s the type of person to walk with a slight limp, yet she moved swiftly into the marbled lobby of the restaurant when she met with Saavedra. The older elf now espouses advice. 

“What _type_ of positive reinforcement?” Saavedra asks, a tinge of pinkness dotting her cheeks from embarrassment from asking for advice in the first place. After she had told her slave his new name— what even was his original name? She never bothered reading his papers— she just… left him to his own devices. Told him to not do anything stupid when she left. Now, she sits in a restaurant that’s clearly designed with humans in mind, because their knees almost touch under the narrow table. Why are humans so short?

Vissla chuckles lightly. “Men are simple creatures. Just call him a good boy.” Which just serves to make Saavedra wrinkle her nose at her. She’d rather just berate a man, but something about Feles’ face makes her voice stop. Besides, Vissla is a significantly more experienced owner so she _would_ know best.

The dark elf was one of Ghorza’s right hand women, and now she reaps the benefits of having more money than she knows what to do with. Definitely richer than Saavedra, and the fact makes her just a tad jealous despite the fact she just spent over a million gold on a single man. 

Saavedra takes a sip from her sweetened tea. The lighting of the restaurant is dim and the air is thick with the scents of so many different foods, intermixed with the odour of… arousal. 

Which is entirely unsurprising, since the serving boys here all wear graceful silken outfits that are thin enough to be completely see-through. Most restaurants and pubs double as brothels now, and the servants do more than just deliver food and drink.

Saavedra pouts. “I already gave him a new set of clothes. Something super luxurious for a simple sex slave. How much nicer do I need to be?” Her usual steady gaze flickers from Vissla to another table. A human servant currently rides on a wooden cock attached to an orc, his wanton moans and breathy gasps intermingled with the noises of other serving boys currently embracing their inner whores. The orc snaps her hips to meet his and a strangled cry rips out of the man as beads of sweat fly off his glistening skin. 

It’s a scene that is reminiscent of when Chief Ghorza fucked Feles during the auction. 

Saavedra wants to do the same to him.

But every time she thinks of his face her more sadistic urges seem to evaporate like water on hot stones. 

Again, she assumes it’s because he’s so handsome. She doesn’t want to break him like glass.

When her eyes go back to Vissla, the dark elf raises a single brow, and ear. 

“You’re not experienced, so I expected hesitation. But nothing says you can’t be nice to your new toy. I personally prefer it when my men actually enjoy servicing me.” She leans back in her chair, “Though, if you want to make his life a terror, be my guest. He’s your slave and you can do anything you want.”

_Anything you want._

The words replay in her mind and makes her skin tingle. Goodness. It hasn’t been that long and yet a new world order has been established. She _can_ do anything she wants with Feles without any legal ramifications. She could have never done anything like this in the old world, of course, men thought they were _equal_ and anything other than livestock. She remembers eavesdropping on a conversation from the table behind them, of news from a small town in the east. 

There was a small uprising of men, started by a slave who was bought back by his own sister. Apparently, she had ‘healed’ him and after he spent a few weeks refusing to leave his room he suddenly decided to begin an uprising in an attempt to revert things back to their original state. 

Naturally, the so-called uprising didn’t even last a day. They were culled quite easily, and now the event serves as another reminder that men were only destined to be dominated. Honestly, what Ghorza had done for them was basically a _favour._ Their lives were just so simple now! They should be _thankful._

Saavedra pokes at her salad, which is mostly crisp lettuce leaves tossed in a creamy sauce, served with buttery garlic bread. Despite the advice and the thought she just had, she still doesn’t know what to do with Feles. 

As she’s ruminating over her dilemma, a server approaches their table. An elf with pristine alabaster skin, his cherry-red hair falls past his shoulders. He wears the silken outfit that hugs his body, which looks positively _divine_ against the curves of his ass. The fact that he hadn’t been bought by anyone surprises Saavedra and she unconsciously licks her lips.

“Here’s another cup of tea,” he says, voice a low whisper as he flutters his eyes at Vissla, “A little something extra from me. It’s ceylon tea with apple pie and vanilla.” He winks with a suggestive sway of his hips.

Before Saavedra can even imagine the thought of her shoving this man against the table and spanking his ass raw, Vissla grabs the teacup from the man's hand and stands.

Then she pours the piping hot liquid on the elf’s head, the action making Saavedra’s ears perk upwards in surprise. The tea cascades off his scalp like a waterfall and he hisses, expression turning into a cringe as his hands go to his head as if to shield it.

Vissla’s face twists into a sneer. “Bold of you to assume that I would want to do _anything_ with a wanton whore such as yourself. Whatever happened to taking orders?” Her longer fingers card through the man’s hair, a small squeak coming out of him as she pulls harshly and forces his neck to bend back. 

“Go back in the kitchen where you belong and only come to my table when _I_ order you to. As long as I’m a customer here, _never_ do anything without my say so.” She spits out harshly. 

Saavedra, meanwhile, blinks stupidly at the scene before her. Nothing but confusion swirls around her mind.

“Wha—”

She clamps her mouth shut when her eyes glance at the serving boy’s expression. 

His cheeks are the blush of roses, that peek of champagne pink. The colour infused cheeks dimple with the blossoming smile and his eyes shine in a way that only deep happiness can bring. He’s practically _glowing._

“Y-Y-Yes,” he rasps as his knees buckle, “Yes, Ma’am.”

Vissla lets go of him, and for a moment he looks as though he’ll fall to his knees with how he wobbles. He manages to steady himself, his blush now going to his shoulders. When he turns to scurry away, Vissla smacks him on the rear. The resounding _smack_ echoes across the restaurant, and the man sighs dreamily. 

When… whatever that was is over and done with, Saavedra squints at the dark elf. 

“What in the world happened to being _nice_ to your toys?”

Vissla merely smirks. “Oh that’ll come. In a time that’s more private. You have to read the atmosphere and give him what he needs first. The young chap clearly wanted what I gave him.”

More blinking. Was it… truly clear he wanted tea poured on him? Well, sure, every man deep down wants to be demeaned but she’s not sure she would have done it _quite_ like that. She’s not really sure what she would have done after spanking if she were the target of the man’s affections.

_Must be because of my inexperience again…_

Her annoyance must show on her face, because Vissla pats her on the shoulder. 

“Just do whatever comes naturally, and the two of you will be able to read your wants.”

What _is_ natural for her, though? Saavedra nibbles on her lower lip, but nods regardless.

_The only way I’ll get experience is… well, actually doing something._

Yes. She’s spent far too much time mulling over what she could do without actually doing anything. She’s got a strapping young man that’s her property. A goddamn former _King!_

And she needs to make him fully hers.

_Just do whatever comes naturally._

* * *

Luc— Feles stands where Master left him. He shifts on his feet and wrings his hands for what feels like the umpteenth time. He hasn’t moved from where he stood— he doesn’t know if he’s supposed to even move. His feet hurt from not moving for so long. She just told him to not doing anything _stupid._

Stupid can mean a lot of things.

_“You’re not the brightest tool in the shed, huh?”_

Through a swirl of sickening fears comes Chief Ghorza’s voice, casual and light. It makes his hands shake, she had said that when he tried to bite her like the complete _idiot_ that he was during his… taming. He succeeded in connecting his teeth with her skin but he barely made a dent on her thick hide. He can almost _feel_ her big hand closing in on his throat, sealing off any viable exit. She only needed a single hand to do the deed, and her other crushed his nose with one punch. Unconsciously, his own hands go to where she had assaulted him. It’s long since healed, but it’s slightly crooked now.

_“Heh. It gives you character. You should thank me for that.”_

Naturally, he did thank her for the crookedness, lest he wanted anything else to be broken. He may be stupid, but he quickly learns his lessons when needed. Sometimes Chief Ghorza would give him orders that turned his brain to a mental soup of conflicting instructions. Always unsure of what to do. And when he inevitably failed in some way, she whipped and fucked him until he felt like he was being flayed alive. 

He doesn’t know if Master is doing the same with him now. Giving him an order he _might_ interpret incorrectly, so he just stood there. If he does nothing, she can’t punish him can she?

_Stupid._

Yes, that thought is in itself is _stupid, stupid, stupid._ Master can punish whenever and however she damn well pleases. The realization makes his fear build like an unstoppable snowball in the pit of his stomach. He cannot concentrate on anything else that he’s doing, despite the fact he just stands there waiting for her to return. 

He thinks about Chief Ghorza hitting him again. Her eyes told him he was nothing special, that she had done this dance countless times before, but Feles was shattered nonetheless. Every facet of his personality was denigrated and shunned. He was less than nothing, less than an object to be used. Every look that came his way from Chief Ghorza’s soldiers was laced with contempt and annoyance that he should take up room and eat. Every bite of food that was thrown his way was measured, thin and mean as the nourishment was. Once, a soldier made him eat a live beetle off the floor.

He’s not the person he once was. Hell, he’s not a person at all anymore. Lucien is dead. Feles has taken his place. Which means he has to succeed in being Master’s newest toy. The very last thing he wants is to fuck up, because he wants… her to be nice. At least a little bit.

He decides to continue standing there. He hopes it’s the right choice.

* * *

The black cat has been rubbing its body against his leg for several minutes now. The purring is loud enough to distract him from his anxiety. 

Feles wants to pet it. He _really_ wants to pet it. But he doesn’t know if he’s allowed. He can’t remember the last time he enjoyed the company of an animal that _wasn’t_ one of Chief Ghorza’s war dogs that very clearly wanted to rip him apart. 

Eventually, the cat flicks its ears and turns its head to the door.

There’s footsteps and Feles feels his heart skip a beat. 

When the large oak doors he thinks he might have stopped breathing. Somehow Master is prettier than before. Bright eyes glint in the pale light, like the moonlight reflecting on a shimmering pool. Her long, elegant lashes blinking patiently is almost hypnotizing to watch. Then Feles remembers that he might not have permission to look at her, so he averts his gaze to her feet. Dainty bare toes peek out of the pleated golden heels. The white and blue robes she wears hang around her ankles. The cat now rubs itself on Master’s legs.

Feles licks his dry lips. 

“Welcome back, Master.” He briefly wonders if he should go to his knees and put his head on her thighs like he did earlier, but he’s gripped by a panic thinking that’s why she left in the first place. What if it was wrong? What if she’s angry he did something so forward?

Every second of silence makes him think he may be drowning. 

All he can do is watch the cat get scooped up in Master’s arms. Then she finally, _finally_ talks and he thinks he may heave a sigh of relief. 

“Have you… stood there the entire time?”

This is an easy question. Lying is obviously worthy of a punishment, so he answers truthfully. “Yes, Master.”

She makes a small noise that he can’t decipher. He can’t read her face either because he continues staring at her feet.

…She has nice feet. He wants to touch her. He wants to serve her. He wants to do what he was trained to do. He wants to know if his life will be… comfortable again. He needs to be good for her. 

Master moves away from his vision as she walks, and when passes by him she gives him a simple order that makes his knees buckle.

“Follow me.”

Yes. _Yes._ Something so simple. He can do that, he can do _so much_ for her. Sure, she may be leading him to his fucking _doom_ but the excitement of having a simple command outweighs whatever fears he still may have. 

She leads him to another room, one with a sofa that is a brilliant gold with reds as deep as any poppy. There’s a fireplace and an elegant fur carpet that reminds of when he had to sleep on the floor when in the care of Chief Ghorza. His blanket was always a fur carpet.

Master sits down with the cat after saying something he didn’t understand to a servant.

Feles, of course, stays standing. He would never dare sitting next to her like some type of oaf. Since she hasn’t said anything about him not looking directly at her face, he assumes he’s doing the right thing. So far, so good. 

Eventually the servant returns with some type of wash basin filled with steaming water and a cloth before leaving. 

Then, it’s silence again, save for the purring from the cat. It makes him begin to sweat nervously. Clearly, Master gets a bit impatient herself, because she shifts in her seat and huffs. It’s a noise that makes him think his heart is going to crawl out of his throat.

Finally, after a painfully long and awkward silence, she haltingly says, “Go on then. Surely you know what to do.”

His muscles stiffen for a moment before he realizes her command. 

_Stupid, stupid, stupid!!_

Obviously she wants her damn feet washed! Why didn’t he realize that immediately?! How could he inconvenience her like that and make her tell him what to do when it’s so fucking clear what she wants?! He needs to read her, dammit! He was fucking trained for that!

Adrenaline floods his system, it pumps and beats like it’s trying to escape. His heart is pounding in his chest but he tries to ignore it and slow his breathing. He _really_ hopes the absolute abject terror isn’t showing on his face right now, but he’s sure it shows on his movements. His body is jerky as he falls to his knees and crawls to her like an wobbly newborn calf. He shakily grabs a hold of the cloth. 

“O-Of course, Master,” he says as genteelly as he can, “I apologize for being such a f-fool.”

Feles only hears a harsh ringing in his ears just imagining what Chief Ghorza would have done to him for such a failure. She probably would have hit him hard enough to break his jaw, followed up by wrapping him up with chains to suspend him from the ceiling for several days. He’d feel so raw; like there is no skin over his wounds and the wind makes his flesh bleed.

He mentally prepares himself for a potential hit when he moves her robes over her delicate feeling skin and painstakingly slips off her heels as slowly and gently as he can. No hits come, but his hands still feel clammy. Every muscle craves relaxation as blood courses miles of veins and a pulse sounds in his ears.

Feles tries to force himself to relax. It seems to work he dips his hands and cloth in the steaming soapy water. He relaxes completely when he lathers his hands and lifts one of Master’s feet, no resistance or any annoyance seeming to come from her. He continues to not dare look at her face.

Her feet don't even need to be washed. They look immaculate, but he wasn’t about to say that. Her ankles are slender, her toes long and delicate. When he touches the softer skin at the arch of Master’s feet, feeling the round bumps of bone under his fingers Feles thinks he may gone to heaven. It was… blissful, touching her like this. He didn’t want to stop. 

He was going to make her skin shine. Do the best he possibly can. 

In his… long dead past life, he would be the one having his appendages washed. That doesn’t matter anymore. 

_Lucien is dead,_ he tells himself. This is the socially correct behaviour for him now. This is the new type of propriety—

He feels something cold wrap around his ankle. A hand, a frigid hand with long nails.

It makes him freeze his moments before he tries to jerkily continue what he was doing. His heart rate accelerates again as from the corner of his vision he sees a scraggly, broken body crawl at his side.

Delicinia. 

Sweat beads Feles’ forehead. He tries to banish the specter from his mind, but Delicinia’s twisted, broken neck forces him to stare at her. She’s smiling that manic smile when she deflowered him, eyes practically popping out of her skull. 

_“You’re like a flower blooming in a desert.”_ She says, her voice sounding distant and close at the same time. _“Oh, Your Grace. Luci.”_ Her voice breaks off to an excited squeal, one he remembers clearly that fateful day. _“I have watched you my entire life but I never tire of your sense of_ propriety!”

He almost drops the cloth from his hands when the foot on he was in the midst of poorly washing moves to tilt his chin up. 

Delicinia’s ghost disappears as he’s forced to look at Master, and when the elf squints her eyes at him he swallows thickly. His throat bobs against her toes and water drips on his exposed neck.

“You seem distracted,” she observes, the cat in her lap now sleeping. 

_Shit._

He blinks heavily to avoid outright crying in front of her. 

“I’m… I’m—” He swallows again, “I’m v-very sorry. I’ll— I’ll do better, I promise.” 

The ringing fills his ears again, mixed with Delicinia’s shrill laughter that echoes and reverberates in his skull. He doesn’t know what else to do, so he blubbers more apologies. 

“S-Sorry, I’m really, _really_ sorry. P-Please forgive me! I’m sorry!” His shaking hands try to continue to wash her feet, but she doesn’t move her appendage away from his chin.

When he looks at her, he sees she’s blushing darkly and every thought in his mind disappears into a dark mist. Hesitance seems to flash in her expression, but she licks her lips. 

“Then do better. Continue.”

_Then do better._

_Then do better._

_Then do_ **_better._ **

His throat feels devoid of any liquid when Master puts her foot back into his hands. Feles’ thoughts circle around the thought of being _better_ like a cat after a mouse. She’s not mad. Probably a bit disappointed, which still stings, but it’s something he can definitely improve on. He _will_ prove he’s worthy of being her pet. 

Thinking about her deep blush makes his stomach flip and flutter in strange and uncomfortable ways.

He goes back to washing her feet, the brief memory of a long dead advisor seeming to be forgotten. Feles’ fingers dips her foot into the water, a thumb sliding between her toes to make sure she’s cleaned. Somehow, it feels more intimate than before.

It makes his mind hazy.

It makes his trousers feel a tad bit tight.

It makes his throat regain its lost moisture because his mouth begins to water.

He rubs her feet, feeling hypnotised. His cheeks are no doubt flushed, he can feel the burning sensation on his face. His trousers continue to become more tight when he dries her with a towel, then… he thinks he knows what else she wants. 

Her soft skin feels divine against his hands. It feels even better when his tongue slowly licks at the arch of her foot. 

There’s a soft gasp, and every ounce of confidence he had is obliterated. He cringes at himself, realizing the earlier adrenaline must have shut down his ability to fucking think logically. Feles wants to hit himself for being so bloody presumptuous— he’s such a stupid fucking slave. He doesn't know what she wants and what she doesn’t want. She’s going to tear him ap—

When he moves his face away from her feet to splutter out more apologies, her foot almost kicks him in the face with how it’s shoved against his lips. 

“I didn’t say you could stop,” he hears above him, Master’s voice breathy and heated. 

He has to blink away tears again. Tears of _happiness._ He did something right! He made her happy! Oh, those torturous days at Chief Ghorza’s hands were worth it for this single moment!

A smile tugs at his lips, and Feles lowers his mouth to meet her skin. His tongue on her sole felt _right._ Kissing her ankle is _right._

Being at her feet is where he belongs.

He kisses her toes like a bird pecking at discarded crumbs at the park. Then he gives her largest toe a suckle, hollowing out his cheeks and slathering her digit with his tongue. He presses his open palms up against the soles and licks her again. When her toes curl in delight he is filled with renewed vigour and confidence. 

He reverently kisses her ankles again before kissing his away up both of her calves. At some point, the cat had vacated her lap, and he figures this is the moment where he can revel in his true purpose: to be her whore. 

He gives her a long, languid lick up her leg, soon reaching for her thigh. 

A hand cups his cheek, then moves to hold his chin and forces him to look at Master’s face. 

She still has a deep, crimson blush on her cheeks, accompanied by a grin that makes his heart flutter. 

“Well _done,_ Feles.”

Those simple words make time slow. His whole body glows with relaxation and contentment as he replays the praise over and over again in his head. Her words excited him to no end, evident but how his cock strains against his pants. The fact he made her happy fills him with such a sense of accomplishment he doesn’t he ever experienced in his _entire_ life. 

The specters of Delicinia and Chief Ghorza seem so far away in this moment. 

Everything feels perfect. 

This woman was his Master. And he wants to prove his complete and utter devotion and commitment to her. 

* * *

The next several days pass in a blur. Saavedra had relieved most of her staff from their positions— she had no use for servants when Feles was so _good_ at doing domestic chores. She wouldn’t be fucking him constantly, and therefore she thinks he should earn his keep in different ways. A man was more naturally suited for such menial tasks, anyway. 

She had done what came naturally, and now she thinks she’s truly embraced the fact she owns everything facet of his mind, both his body and mind. She understands how to _read his wants,_ as Vissla put it.

Saavedra finds him in the kitchen brewing her favourite blend of tea. It doesn’t take long for her to be directly behind him, her hands greedily groping his supple rear end. He responds by giving her an appreciative hum before speaking.

“Ah, Master, I am almost finished.”

She doesn’t take her hands off his ass. “My, my. If I didn’t know any better, I’d accuse you of intentionally taking your time to avoid what’s about to occur.”

Predictable, he goes stiff at the comment. She watches his expression morph into one of fear— which simply serves to arouse her— before it’s replaced by a small smile. 

“Aha…” he chuckles nervously, “I— I would never dream of doing such a thing. I apologize for taking too long.”

She doesn’t think she’ll ever tire of hearing him apologize. She can tell he does it on purpose, there’s a slight tinge of mirth behind his nerves. He knows she likes it. He’s learning. 

Feles might be truly nervous about what she has in store for him, but the end result will be worth it. He’ll thank her for it, surely. 

Perhaps it was her comment that spurred him on, but she gets her tea earlier than she expects it. It makes her smile regardless, and she leads him to the same room where he kissed her feet — something that has become a common occurrence. Not a single day passes where he doesn’t use his pretty lips and tongue on her ankles.

Feles lies down in the middle of the room and Saavedra takes a lazy sip from her cup.

There’s a knife next to him. 

It’s time to carve her name into his skin. To claim full ownership, once and for all. 

Saavedra watches with glee as he studiously pushes the buttons of his shirt through their holes one by one, revealing his chest inch by inch. Her eyes drift to his strong shoulders and then to his brown nipples that harden under her gaze. 

“Nicely done,” she says, noticing how his cheeks redden at the comment. She takes another sip of her drink before sitting down on his stomach and setting the cup on the floor. 

Just mere days ago, she worried about breaking him. Now, she knows he can take that and so much more, and he’d take it _happily._ This man, this slave, this _pet…_ He was truly destined to be in her arms. With each passing day she knew she can do more with him without fear of breaking him a way she didn’t want. She knows she can embrace her sadistic urges with him with glee and without consequence. 

He was worth every piece of gold she spent on him.

Carving into his skin… is just something else that comes naturally to her.

Saavedra holds the knife, twisting it in the daylight that filters through the curtains as if it could slice up the sun-rays. She turns it over in her hands, feeling the weight of it. It was time this tool lived up to its promise. Something so beautiful is never built to stay clean. 

She doesn’t take her eyes off his face. He watches his expression go from neutral to twisting into discomfort and pain as blade meets flesh, soft and pudgy. It makes a satisfying squish as the tip of the knife sinks deep enough to cause a thin rivulet of blood to dribble out. 

He nibbles on his lips in a visible effort to keep quiet. It only serves to make her lower lips wet. 

The corner of her mouth twitches upwards when she curves her writing to make a _S._ Feles’ chest is _perfect_ for something like this. It was a canvas made to be cut to ribbons. She goes on to write the two _a’s_ of her name, only pausing to backhand him when he writhes too much. 

“Stop moving.” She growls, cunt growing more warm when he whines and nods. 

“S-Sorry.”

Perhaps it’s because of how he sounds, or because she wants to reward him in some way, but she leans down to push her lips against his. She doesn’t care if her long hair and shirt is now mixing his blood, all she _does_ care about is how he pants against her mouth-desperate and pathetic. 

When she separated from him, she presses her devilishly long fingers against his torn skin and he arches his back with another low whine. 

She continues to split his flesh, and every time the mild crimson liquid pops from the barrier and seeps away from the wound she feels her lower belly become more warm. In the midst of her ministrations, she takes another sip of her tea, idly noting how Hanaat lays in front of the fireplace and not reacting to what’s happening in front of her at all. 

Saavedra finishes the _d_ when she claims his mouth again. All she can focus on is her Feles. On the soft moan he makes. On how he tastes like strawberries. On how he arches his back again when she bites his lip. Her ears droop, before twitching as she feels the continuing onslaught of arousal. 

He’s hers. Hers, hers, hers. 

She unabashedly grinds against him when she finishes writing her name. Every trail of blood makes her cunt feel like it’s on fire and when she’s done adding a small heart beneath her writing she shivers violently before dropping the knife on the hardwood floor. 

Every part of her skin feels like it’s tingling. When she hears a light sniffling below her, she’s rewarded with the sight of Feles openly crying. His tears are eclipsed by the wide, toothy smile that stretches across his face.

He’s prettier than any work of art she’s seen. 

“M-Master,” he whines, his tears of jubilation freely flowing from his eyes the same way his blood slithers out of his open wounds, “I’m— I’m… I’m so happy t-to… to be able to show you m-my full devotion to you.”

Saavedra matches his smile with one of her own. 

She tells him three words that he’s clearly dying to hear. Three words that continue to solidify their bond.

“Well done, Feles.”

**Author's Note:**

> I have plans to make one more one-shot in this universe regarding Ghorza's elven boy-toys. If you're an avid reader of my other series, Conformity, fear not! The thing I update next will be that, lol. 
> 
> If you'd like to support me, I have a ko-fi! My username is sanguia0383 over there.


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